


The Gravity Between Hearts

by Kallanda_Lee



Series: Fuckpotato Series [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath, Aftermath of Violence, Amputation, Amputee, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Crying, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, HTP, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Men Crying, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Sleeping Together, Suicidal Thoughts, Trash Adjacent, fuckpotato
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:36:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5101418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kallanda_Lee/pseuds/Kallanda_Lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story takes place directly after "Twixt the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea", and deals with the aftermath of it. In short, Steve was forced to fuck a now quadruple amputee Bucky Barnes at gunpoint.</p><p>Also lovingly dubbed: Captain Donkey Cock and the Winter Fuckpotato 2</p><p>The story's not violent or non-con in itself, but it does heavily refer to it having happened, so please heed the warnings. Plot mostly in service of Steve/Bucky feels. Explicit rating for sex in later chapters. Tags will be added as story progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No beta and not a native speaker, so all mistakes are mine (and the darn spell checker's).
> 
> Mind the tags.

The flickering neon light hurt his eyes; his ears could hear movement on the other side of the room. There was chatter in the distance, and something close to his side was beeping to the rhythm of a heartbeat. The sharp scent of disinfectant permeated his nose. Everything around him seemed white.   
  
It was only when he woke that he realized he must have been unconscious.   
  
A blurry face came to view. Blinking his eyes a few times made it come to focus.   
  
"I shot you," he said, his voice more pained that he had hoped.  
  
The red-haired woman smirked. "You did, but I won't hold it against you right now. Maybe later."  
  
He tried to laugh, but it turned into a sob. His body hurt too much for laughter.  
  
"I'm Natasha, by the way. Nice to finally meet you. Sorry it had to be under these circumstances".  
  
" _Priyatno poznakomitsya_."  
  
Bucky thought he could even discern something of a smile on her lips when he heard her native tongue. She moved to hold a glass of water in front of his lips. He tried to drink, but most of it ended up running over his chin. She reached to support him, trying again, and this time he managed to take a few sips. The water felt good. His lips felt like he'd been stuck in a desert.  
  
"Where's Steve?" he finally asked.  
  
"They dragged him away kicking and screaming, pretty much. Doctors were angry because his wound started bleeding again. He only agreed to move when we told him you might not be ready to see him."  
  
"Sounds like him," Bucky said, "and...thank you. I don't...I don't blame him, I swear, but..."  
  
"You don't have to say it. It's okay."  
  
Bucky looked at her with gratitude.  
  
She took a deep breath before speaking again, and she rested her hand on his bedpost, as if for support.   
  
"Look, there's no good way to do this. Since Rogers isn't here, I'm the unlucky girl who gets to tell you the bad news. Given circumstances we thought it might be better if it's me than a strange nurse, so..."  
  
"Just spit it out."  
  
"We don't know if we can salvage your limbs. Or reattach them, for that matter. We sent them to one of our specialists, but they've been...severed for quite long. The doctors tell me your...your stumps show onset of gangrene, so you'll need a surgical revision either way."  
  
Bucky tried to stay strong, but Natasha's words made the reality of what had happened come crashing back in.He felt trapped in his own body. He wanted to scream, but he knew it would not help him. He tried to reach for something with his hands - both real and mechanical - and he could feel them moving, but there was nothing there.  
  
"Oh joy," he said. "Anything else?"  
  
"Yes. For the other matter...you're lucky in the sense you don't have intestinal tearing, but you might still need surgery...there. And antibiotics. But that's probably the least of your worries".  
  
Bucky nodded. It was funny, in a way, to see this woman have trouble with words. He had seen her in battle twice now, and she was nothing short of deadly and efficient. Nothing in her demeanor had ever betrayed that she was warm or nurturing - yet here, at his beside, she was trying to be gentle with a man who had put a bullet through her. It was touching, even.  
  
"Yeah, I think I can manage swallowing," he managed.  
  
He swore he could see her go a little pale.  
  
"I'm trying this whole humor-as-a-coping-strategy thing. Not sure it's working, though."  
  
"Fake it 'till you make it?" she asked amicably, and he could see her soften. Had anyone told him, many years ago, that they'd be sharing friendly banter one day he'd have thought they got hit on the head.  
  
"There's one more thing," she said, and he could see something in her face twitch involuntarily. "There will be someone with a rape kit coming in soon."  
  
"I don't need a rape kit."  
  
"Look, I understand you might not want to but..."  
  
"I don't need a rape kit," he said again, louder, "because Captain Rogers was the only one inside me, and he was coerced. There is no evidence to be found."  
  
He could see something glisten in those green eyes, but he figured they were both not the type to acknowledge it. He could feel the same happening in his own eyes, and really there was no need for a scene.  
  
"Okay, I'll tell them that. I'll let you rest."  
  
She was almost out of the room when he called out her name.  
  
"I could...I could  _not_  make it out of surgery, you know."  
  
She approached him again.  
  
"We have great doctors here. And you're stable. But if you're worried, and you want me to do some things just in case..."  
  
Bucky blinked back tears. "That's not what I mean. I mean, I know you could make it look like an accident. Nobody would ever know."  
  
She leaned in closer, making deliberate eye contact.  
  
"That would  _destroy_  him."  
  
"People die every day."  
  
"Not people's best friends who just came back to life after 70 years."  
  
" _Please._ "  
  
She put her hand to her forehead, closed her eyes, and when they reopened they seemed sterner and more determined.  
  
"I'm sorry, Barnes. I get you. I really do. But that might be Steve's final straw and I can't let that happen to the Avengers."  
  
He wanted to bury his face under the covers, feeling like he just got rejected by a girl he asked to a dance. Trying to hide his face, he realized there was no way he really  _could_. Instead, he just turned away from her, and pressed his cheek into the pillow.  
  
"I really  _am_  sorry, but we all have our part to play. And yours isn't over yet." she said.  
  
With that, she was gone.  
  
He was left listening to his own heartbeat on the monitor. It sounded stubborn and unrelentless, and showed no sign of wanting to stop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve is tormented and Sam is a good friend.

Steve sat up in his bed, one leg on either side of it. Someone - maybe Natasha, but probably Sam - had taken it on themselves to buy him pajamas while he was in surgery, and he'd be grateful if his mind wasn't clouded by other things.  
  
He ignored the IV still hooked to his arm, and the faint-but-red spot that had formed on his pant leg where the bullet had torn into flesh hours prior. His head was buried in his hands, and now that both friends and nurses had left his side, every emotion he had felt in the last 24 hours came crashing in on him. He was crying quietly, but the silence did not stop his body from convulsing with each soundless sob.  
  
He'd gotten off so lightly, he thought. They hadn't even put him under. Just a local to take out the bullet and a few stitches over a wound that had already started to heal. He hadn't let them touch the bite marks, save for disinfecting and dressing them. Part of him hoped they would scar and remain on his skin - a reminder of how much he had wronged his best friend. A reminder to do better.   
Those wounds would probably heal without a mark, though, and the thought added to his sadness, like even this part of Bucky would be taken away from him.  
  
He didn't know how long he sat there, or how long he cried. He felt bad for crying, too. Didn't feel like he deserved to when Bucky... _oh Bucky_...   
  
Just thinking about it made it hard to breathe.  
  
His body sprung back into defensive mode when footsteps entered the room but a "Whoa there, it's just me!" made him stop before a nightstand was used as a shield.  
  
Sam was holding two large mugs of something hot and steamy. He tried very hard to smile, but Steve could see the worry in his eyes as he looked at Steve's tear-streaked face.  
  
"Pretty sure the nurses wouldn't be happy to see you sit up." Sam said, sitting down in a chair next to him.  
  
"Yeah well, I'm pretty sure I heal faster than other people do."  
  
"On that note...while I don't think caffeine even works on you, the doc wouldn't let you have coffee. So, I brought you some hot milk instead.  
  
He handed Steve one of the mugs. Steve sniffed it and smelled something that wasn't milk in there.  
  
"I added some cinnamon. It'll make it less bland, trust me."  
  
Steve drank it eagerly, but neither the drink, nor the company or even the warm room could drive the chill from his bones.  
  
"Thank you, Sam. Not just for the drink...for everything."  
  
"Don't mention it. That's what friends are for."  
  
"Is there any news?"  
  
"He's still in surgery. It takes time."  
  
Steve nodded, and it was more resignation than acknowledgement. It was the waiting that was the worst. The one thing that made even superheroes feel powerless.   
  
And even if the waiting was done - what then? Sit by his bedside and talk about the old days like if nothing had happened?  
  
He had learned to deal with death and war and loss. It had made the warmth in his chest grow a little less stronger; it had made the world a little grayer - but he could compartmentalize it and push it to the back of his memory, until something triggered it or he chose to be nostalgic.  
  
This...this was different. He couldn't push this away. It permeated his memories, his feelings, his flesh and bones and he could not hide from it.  
  
"So how are you holding up?" Sam asked, and the question took him by surprise, like it was absurd to even think it.  
  
"I'm okay," he said, but the moisture gathering in his eyes proved otherwise. "Sorry for making such a spectacle of myself. It's Bucky who drew the short straw on this one. Again."  
  
Sam moved closer to him, and Steve could feel his hand carefully touch his forearm.  
  
"Steve...could you look at me?"  
  
He reluctantly did.  
  
"This happened to you too, okay?"  
  
"It's not the same," Steve said and he could hear his own voice breaking. "They made me...he made me hurt Bucky." Even now, he realized, he was unable to get the word  _rape_  past his lips.   
  
"Sam, he looked so small and broken and helpless and I had to hurt him  _more_." Steve couldn't prevent the harrowing sob that shook his own body. He felt Sam's arm grab on to his shoulder, steadying him. "And look at me crying here while I should by by his side, or chasing down Rumlow, or..."  
  
"Steve...you've got to give yourself time to heal. And I don't mean just your body, okay? I know it wasn't the same for you as for Bucky, but that doesn't mean it doesn't affect you."  
  
Steve thought about a retort, but he couldn't find the strength for it, so he just leaned into the comforting touch for a moment, and let himself calm down a little. It wasn't a peaceful feeling, though. He just felt...empty."  
  
"Anything I can do for you?" Sam finally asked.  
  
"Shower. I think I'd just like to shower, but they won't let me."  
  
It was true. He'd felt dirty coming in, and more so now after the crying. He'd asked before, but they told him to stay in bed.  
  
Sam sighed. "Alright then. Let's piss off some nurses."  
  
He supported Steve as he tried to get up. Steve was a bit wobbly, and he needed to avoid putting his full weight on his wounded leg, but he could walk. Sam took hold of the IV stand and rolled it along as they shuffled to the small adjacent bathroom.  
  
"Okay, think you can manage from here?"  
  
Steve nodded.  
  
"Right. Good. At least try not to get the bandage wet, or we'll never hear the end of it."  
  
Steve placed his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Thank you, again. Really."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Just go shower, old man."  
  
As Steve closed the door behind him, he finally felt like he could breathe. He pressed his forehead against the cool tiles of the shower. He let out a sigh of relief as his muscles finally relaxed, maybe for the first time since he was brought in.The old pipes made a wheezing sound as the water was turned on. The lukewarm droplets washed away both tears and sweat. He scrubbed himself clean, carefully avoiding his wounds, but making sure no other part of him remained unwashed. He managed to keep the leg dry, but the bandage on his hand and shoulder got soaked. It didn't matter. He was sure someone would fix it for him - possibly while telling him off, but that was a price he was willing to pay for having a shower.  
  
Outside he could hear an angry female voice expressing protests, followed by Sam's lower, soothing tone.  
  
When he finally turned off the water and wrapped himself in fluffy towels, he felt like he had regained some sense of normalcy. He still felt empty on the inside, but it had turned into a numb tiredness - a strange emotional counterpart of physical exhaustion. Suddenly it was hard for him to even keep his eyes open, and he realized that only now the fatigue of everything that had happened finally caught up with him.  
  
Maybe now that he finally felt clean, he'd manage to get some sleep.   
  
He just prayed there would be no dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky woke up still attached to a number of medical contraptions. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be awake yet, or if it was the serum that made him wake up sooner. Someone had managed to put an IV in his right stump, and both blood and a clear fluid - something for the pain, he presumed - were pumped into his body.  
  
A tube had been inserted into his throat for the surgery, and it made him want to heave, bringing him on the verge of panic. He lips felt dry, so terribly dry, and he felt like even that last vestige of independence had been taken away from him now: the ability to speak. He must have made some sounds of distress, because soon a nurse was standing over him, looking down with concerned eyes. She adjusted something on the IV.   
  
"Let's see if we can make you more comfortable," she said.  
  
He felt himself getting more and more drowsy. His vision blurred and sounds faded to the distance. He didn't like it. He preferred being awake even if he ached, but he was in no position to protest.  
  
\---  
  
Bucky slipped in and out of consciousness a few more times after that. He remembered the bed being wheeled through a hallway. He realized that thankfully the tube was no longer in his throat and he took a few deep breaths, cherishing the oxygen despite still being sore there. The bright light in the hallway hurt his eyes. He blinked against it. Then darkness.  
  
Somebody's hand was on his forehead. "Hey, hang in there," he heard someone say. The voice sounded familiar. It was Steve's friend with the wings. He tried to speak but nothing but a moan came out. He heard the sound of the curtains closing around him, followed by nothing but silence in an empty room. More darkness.  
  
A woman's voice saying, but not to him: "It's remarkable. He's healing faster than any other patient I've ever seen. He's doing incredibly well...well, considering." Then the sound of a pencil scribbling on paper. He didn't like it. She talked as if he wasn't there. Like the Hydra scientist used to do when examining him. He felt tears in his eyes, but wasn't sure if it was the pain or the memory. This time he was glad when darkness came.  
  
Hands on him; him jolting in panic. A young man's voice saying: "Easy. I just need to remove this." With horror, he realized the hands were reaching between his leg stumps and he wanted to run away with legs he no longer had. Only when the hands touched his penis, did he realize that something had been inserted  _inside_  it and he started thrashing as much as his body allowed. The hands pressed him into the mattress. "Shh. Don't. You'll open your stitches. You'll be more comfortable after, I promise, but it will be a little unpleasant now." He held still, but heard himself make pathetic noises of distress. It hurt a little as the catheter was removed, but true to the man's word, he felt relief after it was gone. "There," the voice said,"someone will check on you regularly, but there is a voice-activated alarm if you need something. If you need to use the bathroom, drink, or you're in pain - just say ' _Alarm, nurse_ ', okay?" He felt himself nod. His head was heavy. He wasn't sure if there was a God anymore, but he prayed for darkness all the same.  
  
The next time he woke, he felt less drowsy. He took some time to look around the room. The curtain was half open. There was a window on the far end of the room that told him night was falling. Then his eyes fell on the armchair next to his bed, in which a human form lay curled up. Even in the fading light, Bucky could recognize Steve right away. He was too large for the armchair, but he had somehow made himself fit. His legs were pulled up and his arms were clenched around his chest. His head was resting against the chair in an awkward pose, yet despite everything he appeared to be sleeping. Bucky felt apprehension and joy at the same time. "Steve," he tried with a raspy voice, and realized it was the first word he had spoken. Steve stirred in his sleep, but didn't wake. Bucky tried to speak again, but did not find the strength. He felt the darkness closing in again. Part of him hoped Steve would be gone by the time he'd wake again; another part dreaded being left alone. This time, he cursed the darkness.  
  
He woke again, not sure how much later, and realized he still wasn't alone in the room. Steve was there, sleeping where Bucky last saw him, but his slumber was not peaceful. His whole body was twitching and his fingers were reaching for something that was not there. He was making noises that were trying to be words, and Bucky could hear his own name coming from Steve's lips, over and over, with more distress every time it was spoken.  
  
He tried to gather his strength this time. "Steve," he said, but it was barely audible.  
  
" _Steve_ " he said again, louder, and something in the way Steve's body's relaxed seemed to indicate he had heard it.  
  
"Wake up. You're having a bad dream."  
  
His words still were not loud, but Steve had slept in war zones, and he knew that even a small sound could mean danger. He jolted awake, almost falling down from the chair.  
  
" _Bucky_ ," he said again, his voice filled with both panic and longing, laced with guilt. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I just...I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I'll go now."  
  
He looked so very tired when he scrambled to his feet, his body hunched in on itself, looking so fragile in some ways, like that scrawny kid from Brooklyn Bucky once knew.  
  
"Stay," he said, before even realizing that was what he wanted.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Bucky nodded, then realized Steve might not see in the dark. "Yeah, c'mere. Bed's big enough now that there's only half of me."  
  
"Bucky, please..." Steve said, and the words sounded like he was in physical pain.  
  
Bucky grunted as he tried to scoot aside on the bed, with limited result.  
  
"Told the Russian gal my humor might need some work."  
  
That had effect though, and even in the dark he could see Steve's silhouette un-tense. The dark shape moved gently, with no sudden moves, and crawled in bed with Bucky. Steve was careful not to touch him, curling his own legs in the empty spot where Bucky's legs should have been.  
  
He pulled his arms to his chest, but in doing so accidentally brushed over Bucky's side. Bucky flinched involuntarily.  
  
"I can still leave," Steve said, looking at him like a beaten dog. "Sam would probably say it's way too early." He was already pushing himself up again.  
  
"And then what?" Bucky managed, and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "So you come back in three weeks or three months and I flinch then, and it's the same thing. It only postpones it. I don't want to spend three months dreading that moment. I don't want to spend that long dreading  _you_."  
  
He couldn't see Steve's face now, because of the way the shadows fell and the way he had pushed it into the pillow. He muttered a barely audible 'thank you' into the white fabric ,and Bucky suspected he as hiding his face intentionally.  
  
"Besides," Bucky added, "I don't think either of us really wants to be alone".  
  
The was no reply to that, but after a few minutes Steve's breathing grew more even.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" Bucky finally asked.  
  
He heard teeth gritting.  
  
"There's nothing I want  _less_  in the world", Steve said, tension returning, defiant as he had been when he used to pick fights.  
  
"...but I will, if you want to," he added with far more gentleness.  
  
"It can wait. Don't think I can talk for very long anyway." He heard the drawl in his own speech, indicating that his body would soon shut down again and force him to rest. Steve was carefully keeping his distance now, but Bucky could still feel his breath on his cheek every time he exhaled. It was oddly comforting.  
  
"G'night, Stevie," he murmured, more out of ancient instinct than intention. Then he returned to darkness once more.


End file.
